


Eye of the Beholder

by NamelesslyNightlock



Series: Going Down Swinging [35]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adorkable, Asgardian Tony Stark, Banter, Curious Loki (Marvel), Determined Loki (Marvel), Fandral (Marvel) is Good Bro, Feels, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Getting Together, Gift Giving, Insecure Loki (Marvel), Kissing, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Nervous Tony Stark, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Searching, Smitten Tony Stark, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, compliments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21693724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Loki never gets compliments. So when a stranger tells him that he is beautiful before disappearing into a crowd, Loki knows that he must find him again. Even if only to ask himwhy.
Relationships: Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Tony Stark
Series: Going Down Swinging [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1330490
Comments: 51
Kudos: 925
Collections: Best Complete MCU Fics Ever





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt** — _“I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.”_

Loki had hoped that his bruise would have healed before the parade, but when morning arrived, it still stretched over his jaw in a horrid, mottled yellow. He knew that he could cover it with an illusion, but he also knew that Thor would _notice_ – and if Loki tried to hide a wound in such a way, he would only be deemed even more of a coward, even _less_ of a warrior than he already was.

So, as he climbed onto his horse and rode beside his brother in a royal procession through the streets, Loki kept his chin up and bore the stares with all the poise his upbringing allowed him. He repeated a mantra in his head, he reminded himself that he was _better_ than those who looked down on him. He was a prince of the realm, he was the greatest mage in all of Asgard– and he was more than used to being mocked. He knew that he did not look as a warrior should– his skin was too pale, his limbs too thin, his hair too dark. He had long since learned to bear it, and it was second nature to keep his eyes forward, his expression aloof.

He did occasionally glance about the crowd, letting his gaze pan over them as if he cared– but he did not bother with the grins and waves that Thor gave them, not willing to waste the energy when he knew they didn’t want attention from _him_ , anyway.

There was one face that stared up at him which stood out, however– in a sea of so many, Loki never would have noticed any individual, save the fact that he _knew_ he had seen this one more than once that morning. Loki thought he might have seen him near the palace steps, right at the beginning– then down near the market– and then again when they reached the town square.

Odin was to give a speech on a raised dais, celebrating Midsummer. Loki and Thor dismounted to stand in their places– and in order to reach the steps to the dais, they needed to walk close to the crowd.

Loki could hear the mutterings about his bruise– of course word had travelled fast, and they all _knew_ it was because he had tried to best Thor in the training ring without the use of his seiðr. Thor, of course, had swung Mjölnir and _assumed_ that Loki would cheat and use his seiðr to deflect the blow, and when the hammer hit its intended target, it had broken Loki’s jaw. Thor, of course, had been terribly apologetic, and Loki had decided that he would never stoop to playing by the rules again.

They all believed that he had lost, that he was _weak_. The bruise only marked what they already thought they knew, even though they didn’t know the entire story. Even though, had the fight been fair – either with Thor equally handicapped or Loki with full use of his seiðr – then Loki knew without a doubt that he would have won.

He was _better_ than any of them realised, but with so many voices all saying the same thing… sometimes, it was hard to keep his head above water. Even Thor was no help, laughing along and waving at the people who cheered him on, and Loki’s fists clenched so tightly at his sides that he could feel his nails cutting into his palms.

“Prince Loki!” someone called, and Loki’s teeth clacked together as he hit the final straw.

“ _What?_ ” Loki snarled, his head snapping round with a glare– which only sharpened when he realised that the person to speak was the same Aesir he had noticed staring at him throughout the parade.

“I’m sorry,” the Aesir said weakly. He looked like he was considering flight– his brown eyes were wide, he was chewing at his lower lip, and his hands were twisting together as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do with them, or perhaps as if he were trying to prevent himself from making a mistake. It was maddening, but just before Loki could snap again, the Aesir seemed to muster his nerve and he said, “I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.”

Loki was stunned. His glare melted away and his words were lost, struck utterly speechless by this lower-class Aesir who never should have had the gall to even _speak_ to royalty. Indeed, the man’s goatee was well-trimmed and his clothes looked decent enough– but the age of the material was clear as day, and the way that he held himself was far from evidence of good breeding. Yet there was something of a touch of arrogance around the corners of his lips that remained even through the nervousness, the kind of proud confidence that could not be wiped away even in the most difficult of circumstances. And Loki found himself almost _intrigued_.

But before Loki was able to string his words together, the bold Aesir was already backing into the crowd, letting the masses swallow him up so that Loki lost sight of him almost immediately, and was simply left staring toward nothing.

Loki was pulled from his daze by the sound of a snort.

“It would seem that you have an admirer, brother,” Thor teased, his voice leaking with amusement. “It is ridiculous how forward some of these people can be.”

“Some of them can be rather impudent,” Loki agreed, letting his own tone match Thor’s, even though somewhere, deep inside, he was aching to follow after that _impudent_ Aesir, even if only to ask him _why_.

Because even as he laughed the incident away with Thor – Thor, who was so used to receiving such compliments himself that he waved it away as nothing – Loki only wished that he could at least have learned the Aesir’s name.

—

Loki did his best to forget about the incident at the Midsummer procession. After all, it was likely just as Thor had said– just an Aesir who was being too forward, trying to get a little attention from a prince. He didn’t like _Loki_ , he only saw royalty and a chance to become known, perhaps—

But if that were the case, why did the Aesir leave immediately? Why did he not give Loki his name, something to recognise him by? Why did he not make more of a _scene?_ Loki knew that the man’s words had been quiet enough only to be heard by himself and Thor, and certainly not by anyone amongst the clamour of the crowd.

The confusion of events only left Loki all the more curious, wanting to know _more_ , wanting to know as much about this stranger as he could. And even though he tried to leave it, the memory wormed its way into his thoughts when he was practising his seiðr, when he was sitting through council meetings, when he was trying to sleep. Perhaps it was a little pitiful, that a single kind word could be enough to so fully capture his attention– but he was not accustomed to hearing kind words. To him, they were just… not ever said. And for someone to have not only gone out of their way but to have taken a _risk_ just to say something nice deserved at least a _thank you_.

And for that, Loki needed to find him.

Once he had made the decision, Loki did not initially think that it would be a difficult task. After all, the man had been in the city for the procession, seemingly alone and on foot. And besides, Loki knew that word travelled fast down among the common people, and he thought it more than likely that if he were to visit the town in person – something which he did very rarely – news of his presence would spread and an Aesir so bold as to accost him in a parade would hear of the opportunity and come to find Loki himself.

But, it would seem, that was not to be the case.

He acquired something of a following as he passed through the marketplace on foot, though he knew the spectators were there more out of curiosity than any kind of admiration. But he ignored the whispers just as he always did as he walked between the stalls, eying every face and searching for that _one_ amongst the crowd. Loki stayed far longer than he should have, and yet he never found what he was looking for, and he returned to the palace that evening with a bowed head.

A dark corner of Loki’s mind whispered that perhaps the Aesir regretted what he had said, that it was not _meant_ , that the man wished to avoid meeting Loki again due to embarrassment.

Loki did his best to dismiss that thought, reminding himself that there was a chance that the man he sought was simply busy, and had not the time to visit the market. After all, if he was of the working class, he likely had a job to attend.

So, with the kind of determination that was not easily quashed, Loki simply tried again the next day– and then the next.

It reached the point where people expected Loki to be in the market, and his mother even commented on it– asking whether he was all right, whether he needed help searching for an obscure text, or if he was merely seeking company. Loki waved her concerns away, simply stating a desire for fresh air and to learn the ways of the people, so that he might be better suited to his role as a prince.

Regardless, he was not about to stop his search– the challenge it presented only made him more resolved to see it through to the end. So he expanded his strategy, he moved past just the market. He spoke with the Einherjar who had been on duty during the procession, to see if they had recognised the Aesir– but they had been too focused on trying to keep the rest of the crowd back that they barely remembered what the man had looked like. He went inside a few shops along the main street, he travelled outside the city and tried riding through the outer villages, but… no matter where he looked, no matter how hard he tried, he never found a thing.

It was as he was riding back to the palace with a bowed head that he paused at the sight of a particular establishment. As he tied up his horse and went inside, he told himself that taverns were good places to find people, that the reason he had for sitting at the bar and asking the stunned server for a pint was so that he could further his search.

Unfortunately, taverns are also good places to run into people that you would rather _not_ , and when Loki heard his name called he nearly rolled his eyes all the way up to the ceiling.

“Loki?”

“Thor,” Loki greeted, the brightness in his voice brimming with falsehood. “My, it _is_ a surprise to run into you here.”

“Indeed,” Thor replied, his eyes narrowed. As Loki glanced over, he noticed Thor’s friends at a table in the corner with plates of half eaten food in front of them, watching on curiously. “You do not often frequent taverns.”

Loki deemed that unworthy of an answer, and turned back to his mead. He had not consumed much of it– it was not helping as much as he’d inwardly hoped that it would. But it was something to focus on at least, an excuse to look away so that Thor would not have quite such a good view of his face.

Irritatingly, that did not seem to matter, and Thor powered on with his attempts at comfort regardless.

“Loki, I have heard that you are searching for someone,” Thor said, his tone far gentler than when he had started. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Taverns are a good place to find people,” Loki muttered.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Loki heard the grating noise of the stool beside him sliding over the ground, and he resigned himself to the conversation with a sigh.

“What did you mean, then?” he asked bluntly, turning in the stool to pin Thor with a stare that made his frustration with the situation very clear.

“Brother, you are upset,” Thor said, direct as always.

“Well done, you’ve noticed the obvious,” Loki replied. “Did you have any more to say on the matter, or may I return to drinking in peace?”

“Drinking isn’t supposed to be peaceful. You are meant to do it with friends—”

“Drop it,” Loki warned.

“No. Loki, I don’t _like_ to see you upset, not when there might be something that I can do about it.” He frowned. “ _Is_ there something that I can do about it?”

Loki was tempted to tell Thor no. He knew what this would sound like, and he didn’t _want_ to appear like he had turned into a pining, romantic fool, because he _had not_. Yet… he really did want to thank the only Aesir who had been nice just for the sake of it, and he was desperate enough that he steeled his nerve and began to explain.

“Do you remember the Aesir who spoke to me before father’s speech at Midsummer?” Loki asked, forcing his tone to remain blank.

“The one who said you were beautiful?” Thor asked, amused– though the mirth vanished as soon as he saw Loki’s sharp expression. “Sorry.”

“I know that this isn’t something you can understand,” Loki said, his teeth gritting together. “But I just– I only wish to _thank_ him. I’m not used– people don’t normally—”

“Oh, Loki,” Thor said. He sounded sad– and yet Loki was still caught off guard when Thor reached over and pulled him into a hug, almost yanking him right off his stool in the process. “I always thought that what they said did not affect you. You always appear to be so strong—”

“Strong?” Loki asked, his voice bitter– but he did not attempt to pull out of Thor’s hold. “You think me _strong?_ Thor, you know that I hardly qualify as a warrior, that without my seiðr I am _nothing—_ ”

“Without your seiðr, you are not _you_ ,” Thor corrected. “It is part of you, so yes, you would be nothing without it. With it, you are my brother, and you are one of the strongest people I know, which is why seeing you like this is more concerning than I think you realise.” Thor pulled back slightly, and shifted his hand to grip the back of Loki’s neck in a gesture of both comfort and support. “Now. There must be a way that I can help, so that you can find this Aesir.”

“I have searched for near a fortnight, Thor,” Loki sighed. “I have had no luck. I don’t know where else to look.”

“Perhaps the others will know?” Thor suggested. “They have frequented the town far more often than I. Do you know the Aesir’s name?”

Loki shook his head, and Thor’s expression fell– but only for a moment, before his usual optimism flooded in and seemed to light up the whole, dingy room.

“That does not matter. Come on, let’s ask them. They might still be able to help.”

Loki was not particularly taken with the idea of asking Sif and the Warrior’s Three for assistance, especially not in this particular matter– but Thor’s smile was bright with the joy of trying to _help_ , and Loki did not complain when his brother tugged on his arm and led him over to his table.

“My friends,” Thor greeted. “We are to help Loki with a very serious problem.”

“I’m looking for someone,” Loki said, shooting Thor a short glare for his lack of clarity. “I do not know their name, but… I would very much like to find them.”

“Why?” asked Sif, leaning forward slightly, her expression curious. “Has a lady caught your eye?”

“I’m not looking for a _lady_ ,” Loki muttered, though he held her gaze for a moment before glancing to the others, who had clearly been thinking the same. None of them appeared surprised– but they did not change their assumption, either.

“That does not seem like you, Loki,” Fandral said, his tone teasing and his smile friendly. “You seem more the type to at least ask for a name before you join someone in their—”

“I’m sure Thor told you of the Aesir who paid me a compliment in the town square during Midsummer,” Loki interrupted, glad for his practice in schooling his expression. “I wish to bestow my gratitude. Nothing more.”

Fandral’s expression softened, but it was Volstagg who spoke next, his tone far gentler than Loki had ever heard it. “What did he look like?”

Loki hesitated on a description, because… well, brown hair, brown eyes, and a beard? That would describe most of the Aesir in the town. There was another way of course, a way that would likely be frowned upon—

But Thor’s reassurances still rang in his ears, and he remained confident as he raised his fist, his knuckles turned to the ground. It was a simple matter to craft an illusion, for the Aesir had been so on his mind that he knew that face as well as his own– and when he opened his fingers so his palm faced upward, an exact miniature of the man he sought stood tall in his hand.

Despite the use of seiðr, the others didn’t pull back, and they didn’t flinch. In fact, as one they leaned closer to get a better look. Most of them creased their brows without recognition, but there was one who gasped.

“I know him,” said Fandral. “That’s Anthony Howardson.”

“Anthony?” Loki asked, his gaze snapping up to meet Fandral’s, the illusion dissipating as he pressed his hands into the top of the bench.

“Yes. He is a smith. He’s got a forge, off the main street. It’s a little out of the way, but you should be able to find it with some direction,” Fandral said.

Loki could feel his heart beating too fast in his chest, and his lips formed a question without conscious thought, although he couldn’t think why such a thing even mattered.

“Is he a good smith?”

“I am curious as well,” Thor said, crossing his arms and arching a brow. “Fandral, how did you come to know a smith when you have the Royal Smithy at your disposal?”

Loki heard the teasing in Thor’s tone, but it seemed that Fandral did not, as he lifted his chin and cleared his throat.

“I am deeply honoured to have the acquaintance and friendship of you both, and that is something that I never will take for granted,” he promised seriously. “I did not wish to insult you by using a different smith, however… well, Howardson is just better, there is no getting around that fact—”

“Fandral,” Thor said slowly. “I _am_ upset with you. If this smith is as talented as you say, then why have you kept him to yourself?”

Fandral balked for half a second, but Thor had always been terrible at holding a straight face– and a moment later, Fandral flicked a piece of his food at Thor and managed to catch him the side of the head. Loki knew that chaos would soon follow, and as much as he usually enjoyed shielding himself with his seiðr and giving the madness a little nudge here and there, he _was_ in something of a hurry.

“If I may,” Loki interrupted– but he didn’t have to say anything more than that, for Fandral looked up with a smile.

“Of course,” he said. “If I am not to be beheaded for snubbing Thor’s generosity, then I will be happy to give you what you need.”

“I am ashamed that you would think I would do such a thing,” Thor huffed, and then Volstagg shoved him hard enough that he almost fell out of his chair.

“Shh,” Volstagg hissed. “Let Fandral give Loki his directions.”

Loki offered him a grateful smile that seemed to stun Volstagg more than anything else had, and then he gave Fandral his full attention. Once they had been given, Loki repeated the directions back to ensure that he had them correct, feeling the excitement begin to rise inside him.

“Thank you, Fandral,” Loki told him. “I am in your debt.”

That rendered Fandral speechless– Loki did not often hand out favours freely, but if Fandral was correct, and his words led Loki to the end of his search, to that intriguing Aesir… then Loki knew that he would be more than grateful.

As he left them to their resumed food fight, exited the establishment and mounted his horse, he could not keep the hopeful smile from his lips. The tavern, it seemed, had been rather helpful after all.

—

From the street, Howardson’s forge appeared to be nothing special. The outside looked like it tried to be well cared for, but that whoever did the cleaning and washing did not quite have enough time. Yet the lettering over the window was very well crafted, and Loki could tell from a simple glance through the glass that the weapons on display were of an even higher quality. Loki could immediately understand how this place would have drawn Fandral’s eye, even if the storefront was rather dingy– and his hopes were high as he stepped inside.

The sound of a bell rang overhead as the door pushed open– a necessity for places like this, Loki knew. There was no one at the counter or amongst the many shelves, but a voice sounded from the back.

“Just a moment!”

And even though the tone was entirely different, that voice was familiar enough that Loki _knew_ he had the right place.

He knew that he could call out, that he could use his position to demand that the smith leave what he was doing and come to attend him. But he… didn’t, and not just because he was aware of how precarious some stages of the smithing process could be. He wasn’t there as a customer, and he did not _want_ to be there as a prince. So, he waited.

The inside of the shop was rather chaotic. There were weapons everywhere of all different shapes and sizes, no two the same and yet they must have numbered in the hundreds. They were hung carefully on racks and placed upon shelves, but there did not appear to be any kind of rhyme or reason to the way that they were ordered, and there were so many that Loki could not comprehend how it was possible to find a thing. The skill that had gone into making them was obvious, and Loki could not help but move to a shelf that displayed smaller weapons. They were not all daggers, but enough of them were to hold his interest, and he lifted one blade from its perch and let it rest in his palm, bringing it up to his eyes to examine it.

It was not as finely ornate as those that were forged in the Royal Smithy. It bore no gold adornment, no decoration at all– though of course, that held no bearing on the functionality of the weapon itself. It was a little short for his tastes, and had a curved blade. But even though it was not his favoured shape, the weight of it in his hand was so impeccably balanced that it felt like it wanted to be thrown.

He was so engrossed in admiring the craftsmanship that he did not notice the approaching footsteps, and only glanced up when he heard a quiet gasp of recognition.

The Aesir looked different to before– gone were the fine but aged clothes, and in their place was the stiffy, grubby material of hard work. He also wore a heavy leather apron that was riddled with burns, and he had been half way through pulling off thick gloves of the same material when he had frozen at the sight of a prince in his shop.

“Anthony Howardson?” Loki asked quietly, a greeting and a request for confirmation.

“Prince Loki,” Anthony replied– once again proving his lack of etiquette, but in that moment, Loki was more inclined to see it as endearing rather than being annoyed. After all, if this Aesir had followed societal rules, then he never would have accosted a prince in the middle of a formal event. Or, well– at all, really.

Loki could see that Anthony had no need to ask why Loki was there– he had already worked that out. Yet, at the same time, Loki could see from the tense line of Anthony’s shoulders that he likely had it all wrong.

“Anthony,” he said. “I apologise for intruding—”

“You’re not intruding,” Anthony blurted– then he stopped himself, and swallowed. “I mean,” he started again, his voice a little deeper. “You are welcome here, my prince. Erm. Sorry for interrupting.”

Loki grinned. “Oh, you’re sorry _now?”_

Anthony caught on immediately, and his gaze sharpened. “Do you want an apology for that, as well?” he asked, though his tone was amused. “Is that why you’re here? To ask me to grovel?”

“As a matter of fact, I wanted to thank you for your kind words,” Loki said teasingly. “But since it appears that they are not indicative of—”

“I didn’t mean to say what I did, you know,” Anthony said, interrupting again, and Loki felt something sharp enter his chest, as if Anthony’s words had been one of the blades that sat around them in the shop.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice also perhaps a little sharper than it was meant to be. “Was it a jest?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Anthony corrected quickly. “I just mean… I wanted to do _more_ than that, but I stopped myself at the last moment.”

Loki blinked, caught off guard– and the pain vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. Anthony didn’t offer an explanation, at least, not at first. Instead, he backed away and gestured for Loki to follow as he turned and walked between the shelves. Loki returned the dagger that remained in his hands to the shelf, and then followed curiously. They went past all the racks of weapons and into the back, where they came to a workshop that looked just as chaotically organised as the shop out front.

Anthony stood on his tiptoes to reach something from a high shelf– something that was just under a foot long, and was wrapped carefully in strips of soft leather. Hesitant fingers curled around it almost reverently, and those brown eyes were soft as they caught Loki’s gaze.

“I know that you favour knives, and I… well, I made this for you.” Anthony’s cheeks stained with the lightest dusting of pink that was almost unnoticeable in the glow from the forge, but his eyes were determined as he held the wrapped item out in front of him. “I wanted to give it to you, but I lost my nerve. I’m glad that I can give it to you now, though.”

There was a moment were Loki found himself just staring in shock– he did not yet even know what Anthony had made, and even though he could make a guess, the gesture itself was more than enough to render him silent. Anthony did not even know him, and yet…

Loki stepped forward, and took the item with all the care he might have done had he been handed the finest china in all the realm, or an item of great and unstable power. He removed the wrappings almost tentatively, starting from the blade– and his eyes widened as he recognised the straight shape of it, exactly that which he always chose to fight with.

Then the rest of the wrappings fell away, and Loki could not contain his intake of breath.

The weapon was far finer than anything that Anthony had on display. The hilt fit Loki’s hand perfectly, not too long and not too short– and the balance was just as immaculate as that of the dagger Loki had examined earlier. There were runes etched over the blade, runes that were not imbued with seiðr but– due to their being placed there during forging, Loki knew that they _could_ be. And inlaid over the hilt were small adornments of green, the exact shade Loki favoured.

This was a blade that had been made for a mage, and it was in Loki’s colours. And… it was beautiful.

“Why?” Loki whispered. “Why would you make this?”

“Well, I…”

“Is it because you heard about this?” Loki asked, gesturing to his jaw, even though he knew that the bruise was now long-since healed.

“No,” Anthony replied, shaking his head. “I finished that weeks ago, after… well, I watched you fight in the last tourney.” His blush deepened a little, but still Anthony did not seem to mind– and Loki found himself fascinated that he could continue on so strongly even while his emotions were displayed so clearly. “You bested Lady Sif with your blades and illusions—”

“Ah, yes,” Loki said, remembering that day almost two months before. “I suppose you believed that I had cheated—”

“No,” Anthony snapped, his eyes blazing now. “I thought that the way you fought was amazing. I’ve never seen anyone move like you before– the way you use a blade is unlike any other warrior of Asgard. It’s a sight to behold, and it was– _you_ were beautiful. And I knew then that I had to make something for you, but then… once that was finished, I didn’t know what to do with it. I knew that all of your weapons were made by the Royal Smithy, so you would never come here looking to buy one. I could hardly take it up to the palace, and you do not come down to the town like Prince Thor does. But then I thought, maybe, at the parade, there might be a chance to speak with you.” He chuckled, though Loki could tell that the bitter mirth was only directed at himself. “Of course, I realised when I saw the guards that drawing a knife on one of the princes with all those Einherjar around was probably not the wisest move,” Anthony finished. “I’m not _stupid_. But then, there you were, and I just… well, I… I had to say something, and I knew that if that was my only chance to ever speak with you, then I needed to tell the truth.”

Loki knew that his masks had all fallen away, that his emotions must be written over his face just as surely as Anthony’s were. He swallowed thickly, and curled his fingers tightly around the hilt of his new dagger as he whispered, “You made this _for_ _me?”_

“Of course,” Anthony replied, his voice aching with something that Loki couldn’t quite name. “There was never a question of selling it to anyone else.”

“But…” Loki’s breath hitched, and he had to draw in another before he could say– “You don’t even know me.”

“I would like to,” Anthony said gently. “If you would let me.”

Loki breathed a surprised laugh. “You really are impudent.”

“Yes,” Anthony agreed. “But I think I know enough about you to say that, maybe, you like it?”

“Maybe,” Loki allowed. Then he glanced down to his hands once again. “I definitely like this.”

Usually, Loki kept his daggers in a pocket dimension, both for ease of access and so that they could not be taken from him. But, this one… he slid into his belt where everyone would be able to see it, wrapping it with a spell to ensure he would not risk cutting his leg or it falling loose.

“I suppose you will be able to suggest a leatherworker, so that I might be able to have a sheath made for it?” Loki asked, glancing back to Anthony.

Anthony was staring at the dagger on Loki’s hip, and when he looked up his eyes were full of awe. “Yes,” he said. “I can… have a note delivered to the palace, if you wish?”

The hope in the question was easy to decipher, and Loki did not even have to consider his options before he delivered his answer.

“No,” Loki whispered, stepping a little closer again. He could feel nerves dancing through his stomach, but… “If you wish, I could come back tomorrow? We could talk here, or… we could go somewhere else? For a walk, perhaps, or for a meal.”

“Or maybe both?” Anthony replied, his smile growing, the hope turning to delight.

“I think I would like that,” Loki said– and then, before Loki had the chance to say anything else Anthony took that last step to bring them into each other’s space, pressed up on his toes, and caught Loki’s lips in a kiss.

Loki kissed him back from the first, his eyes falling closed and his hands lifting to cup the sides of Anthony’s neck before sliding into his hair. And it felt like Anthony’s hands were everywhere, sliding over his back, around his shoulders, sinking into his hair, caressing his cheek. The kiss wasn’t chaste, and it certainly lacked finesse– but it felt more than _right_ , and Loki pressed as close to Anthony as he could. They didn’t coax the kiss into anything more, but nor did they come to a sudden stop. Their kiss slowed, their movements became more languid until their lips were merely brushing against each other’s skin, until they were slumped against each other to catch their breath, with Anthony’s head on Loki’s shoulder and Loki leaning against the top of it, breathing Anthony in. 

“You said that you’re going to return tomorrow,” Anthony whispered, his lips grazing Loki’s throat as he spoke. “But you… don’t have to leave right now, do you?”

“Not right now,” Loki confirmed, his voice equally quiet, as if speaking loudly would shatter the moment. “I can stay, for a while.” He paused. “I would like to stay, if that is something that you would like as well.”

“I already told you that you’re welcome here,” Anthony said, lifting his head so that Loki could see his smile. “Always. And I would like it if you stayed, as well.”

They didn’t kiss again, though Loki knew that they both _wanted_ to. Instead they used the time to start getting to know one another, to talk and _learn_ about all the things they liked, the things they disliked, the ways that they matched and all the ways that they challenged each other. As they grew more comfortable, they each began to come out of their shells, until they were leaning against each other’s shoulders and– well, Loki felt more comfortable in Anthony’s presence than he had in anyone else’s ever before, and certainly not so quickly.

And later that evening, when Loki finally went to leave the smithy, Anthony stepped close once again, ran a hand through Loki’s hair and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

“I’m really glad you found me,” he said. “After what I did, I thought you’d probably hate me.”

“I’m glad I found you too,” Loki replied. “And of course I did not hate you. I thought…” he hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he should… but if Anthony had been able to pluck up the courage to tell the truth of his feelings, then surely Loki could as well. “I thought that you must have a good heart, the kindest of all the Aesir, to have said such a thing to me.” He offered a soft smile. “You know, you’re beautiful, too.”

Anthony’s following smile made it difficult to leave, but Loki held on to the knowledge that he would be back tomorrow– and that, hopefully, he had many more days to spend getting to know this bold, generous, impudent, and _kind_ Aesir as well as he could.

Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of their lives, and Loki couldn’t wait for them to take the plunge together.


End file.
